Pygmalion
by Enchantable
Summary: If Topher had taken anything away from Greek Mythology, it was that a sculptor should never fall in love with his sculpture.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay I was totally not going to do a Dollhouse fic but then I decided why not? I was all for the siblings-theory but the second season totally changed my mind. I love their scene together in that computer room. So anyway, I wanted to do a follow up to that. **

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Claire Saunders walked into the Dollhouse slowly, her eyes adjusting to the dimmer light.

All around her the Dolls walked by, their eyes vacant and their lips smiling. Claire inhaled the familiar purified air and found herself suddenly wishing for more of a breeze. Her eyes swept around the base floor before slowly raising up to the windows of the second. Her eyes finally landed on the on the windows of Topher's office. Inside she could see Topher and Boyd talking. Boyd had his arms crossed, his gaze showing that his patience was wearing thin. Topher was motioning passionately, obviously yelling as he turned away, running a hand through his hair before turning back towards Boyd, resuming his yelling. She watched as Boyd's chest rose before his lips moved, his hand moving to the window. Their eyes locked before she moved her gaze over to Topher. Their eyes locked and she saw anger, worry--all mixed and all present on his face. His lips moved but he wasn't forming words. She watched his features tighten in anger, his nostrils flared before he turned and stormed away from the window.

Claire turned around and walked away from him, stepping into the sanctuary of her office. Her lab coat was on the back of the chair, the note she had scribbled was gone. Claire reached out and picked up the lab coat. All the while, in her head, she was counting. She counted up, not down but why she did not know. She knew that she was counting up to something, not down from it. Slowly, one and two and three, she kept counting as she picked up her pen and slid open the drawer, placing it inside and sliding the drawer closed as she reached a count of twenty. She got to thirty but kept counting, slowly and steadily until finally she reached fifty. Fifty and then ten more seconds to sixty.

And then the door opened.

"Where the hell did you go?!" he cried looking at her, "you can't just--you can't just up and go whenever the hell you feel like it!"

Claire watched him feeling almost detached. He looked actually hysterical, like he was worried about her. Maybe as a broken doll, maybe as valuable property, maybe as something else. But he was worried, terrified even about where she had gone. Fear looked strange on his face, it sharpened his eyes and wiped the last vestiges of boyhood from his features. Claire watched the change like she looked a the Dolls, as an observer. It seemed impossible that she was a catalyst for such a change. Still she could not find it in herself to look away from him, to end their conversation or even to speak, though the silence was tight terrible with his worry and her detachment.

"Claire!" she looked up higher when he shouted her name, "that's it we're--"

"Why don't you erase my memory?" she asked, her voice vacant, "why don't you take away this memory? Make things like they were?"

Topher turned away angrily. Why didn't he do it? That was the million dollar question. He had event thought about going to DeWitt and discussing it with her. But each time his hand had began to punch her extension into the phone, his thumb had frozen. He could never bring himself to complete the number. Each meeting, each evaluation, each opportunity when he could broach the subject, his voice failed him. He could do it, he could give the order, sit her in the chair and she'd be back to the way she was and the rest of them would just carry another secret about the Dollhouse. It was a simple procedure, a few taps of a screen, a bit of pain and she'd just think she fell asleep. It would have been easy, easier than anything else he would have to do that day. He was more than capable of doing it.

He _could_ do it.

He just never would.

"I can't," he said finally looking down, feeling his anger begin to ebb away.

He turned away, running a hand through his hair. He remembered the night that DeWitt gave him 'the call'. It was really more of a choice. An impossible one. They needed a doctor, sure, and she didn't want to have to go through the process of finding one who would agree to what they were asking. DeWitt told him that either he made Whiskey what they needed or Whiskey was going to the attic. Alpha was out there. If they fixed her, if she was Number One again, then DeWitt had decided it was all but guaranteed Alpha would return. Whiskey was bait to Alpha. So Whiskey had to go into retirement.

So Topher created a person.

Not just an Imprint to be put in a Doll, he was creating a person. He remembered how he had spent two days in a chair, her picture taped to the lamp on his desk. He had opened her file and he had taken bits of who she was, taken bits of Dr. Saunders himself, bits of a thousand other people. It was like weaving threads together, making string into a tapestry. Two days in which he didn't move and consumed more caffeine than he thought was humanly possible, Topher created Dr. Claire Saunders who, despite his best intentions, was a whole person. Whole and flawed and able to choose, no matter what anyone said. There was no hidden purpose, no kill switch buried deep in her psyche. God created the world in six days and rested for one. Topher created a person in two and slept for three.

Claire disagreed with him, argued with DeWitt even, always in a soft manner, as if she still sought to take care of them. Topher found it fascinating. Each time she did something, each time she evolved and changed, he found himself going to the imprint. He could trace everything back to that but it kept changing. _She_ kept changing until Topher realized that he might have planted the flower but he sure as hell wasn't the one who made it grow. He was fascinated by the way she tucked locks of hair behind her ear but never really pulled it away from her face, by the simple, clean lines of the cloths she bought online and had shipped to their cover office. Soon it became hard to trace where the changes came from as they blended together, as his original creation truly became her own person.

And then it all came crashing down.

"You _can't_?" she repeated, her eyes sharpening, "I thought there was nothing the great Topher Brink couldn't do," she spat.

"I gave you free will!" Topher cried finally, "I influenced your choices, I gave you a dislike of open spaces and crowds to influence you to stay here but in the end its all _your_ choice. _You_ chose to stay here, _you_ chose to hate me--its all up to you. You're choosing to these--these things."

"So what?" she demanded, "you don't want to mess with your masterpiece?"

"You're not mine to mess with!" he shouted.

Claire took a step back, her eyes wide. Topher dropped his hands to his sides as she braced herself against the desk. He felt his stomach drop at the realization of what he had just said. Claire gaped at him. Not his to mess with? If she was anyone's to mess with, it was him. He had created her after all. But he didn't seem to believe that and she realized that even if he had created her, it didn't feel like that anymore. He had given her the ability to choose but she had made her choices, her. Not Topher, not DeWitt, just Claire Saunders, a woman who by all means, should not have existed. Claire felt her eyes and throat burn as her fingers dug into the wood of the desk she leaned on. The desk she had picked out in a catalog because she liked the lines of it.

"So I--I what? I have to live with this? Knowing that a year ago, I didn't exist?!" she cried, "how am I supposed to live with that?!" she cried, "this girl--she'll want her body back and I'm just going to go into the attic? Or be recycled? Stripped into spare parts and used in other imprints? You made me think I was _real_ Topher!" her voice pitched, "and now, even though I know better, I can't stand the thought I'm not!"

Topher looked at her her. He wasn't a psychologist, he created and he programmed but that was it. He didn't know what to tell her, what to do for her, what he could possibly say to make her calm down. He had made sure that she was mature and capable and would find nothing attractive in him. He had even made sure that she didn't like the smell of the shampoo he had used since high school, just so that if she got near to him something deep inside her would turn her off. He had made her, she had evolved and he had done everything he could think of to make sure that she did not think of him as someone to turn too, someone to come to comfort too, someone she found attractive. It was all part of the contract, all part of the rules he knew they could never cross. Because if they did, DeWitt would see it as a flaw in the programming, not to mention a breech of ethics and she would send Claire Saunders _and_ Whiskey on a one way trip to the attic. He made sure Claire Saunders wouldn't do anything to violate that code of conduct.

He just hadn't counted on _him _being the one to wish it didn't exist.

"Look," Topher said, "maybe you are real. Maybe I am that great and I created a person," her eyes sharpened as she glared at him, "the truth is, I gave you the tools, you were the one who figured out how to use them. I sure as hell didn't program you to hack into a computer and find out you were a Doll. And I didn't program you to take that car--which isn't yours by the way--and go on that little joy ride."

He saw her lips tremble before they quirked up, just in a small smile. He knew it was true. He made sure she knew how to drive, she knew how to hack but she had chosen to utilize those skills. Topher felt the knot in his chest give way, just a bit. Despite knowing that he shouldn't, that it would never really do, he pressed on.

"Its gonna take time,"he said, "just, you have to give it time."

Claire looked at him before slowly she nodded.

"See? You're surviving your first existential crisis!" he said, his voice mockingly joyous.

"Topher," she sighed, giving him the same withering look he was used to seeing on his face.

Topher had never been so happy to see that look on her face--except maybe the first time he had seen it. This had the same feeling of triumph but it was different. This time he actually felt relieved at the sight of it. Claire looked down, just a glance to see one of his hands move slightly forward, as if he was going to reach for her. Instead he quickly shoved his hands into his pockets, slouching his shoulders and smiling up through his bangs, something she had already pegged as a habit of his. Claire finally tore her gaze away from him and looked back around the office.

"I need to finish these reports," she said finally.

"Well I'll let you get to it," he said turning and heading for the door, "oh and next time, leave a note."

"I did," she said. He turned his head towards her curiously, "I left one for Boyd."

"You _what_?" he demanded, his voice loud, "for Boyd?" Claire glanced at him before turning to the reports, "huh," he said finally, turning around and walking out.

Claire had a feeling he was going to go and yell at their Head of Security.

It was only when she realized she forgot to thank him that she discovered the smile that had been on her face.

That night Topher changed his shampoo.

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**Please review! I'm toying with the idea of making this a multi-chapter fic but that depends on you!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay so we're going on with this. **

**I like Topher/Claire. You like Topher/Claire and if I'm contradicted with Boyd/Claire then whatever. If whoever whiskey was and Topher are siblings, well this is about his romance with Claire. **

**So lets keep going!**

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Topher gaped at the computer room.

The lights still flashed around the room, his cloths still hung from the ceiling. At a passing glance, everything seemed to be perfectly in its place except for one huge thing.

There was a bed in the middle of the room.

Topher opened and closed his mouth, staring at the bed in the middle of _his_ computer room/bedroom. It was the middle of a busy season. He had been at work all day and gone to sleep and there was a bed where his cot used to be. It was made with his sheets except for the addition of a dark blue comforter. It was just a simple mahogany frame, nothing ornate or big, in fact it wasn't even that much higher than his cot had been. Topher took a deep breath but the rage didn't go away. There was only one person who would do this. One person who would have the balls to do this.

"Saunders," he sucked in his breath again and stormed out of the room, back down the hallway, out of his office, down the stairs and strait for the Doctor's officer. He threw open the door, "Saunders!" he shouted.

"Topher what is wrong with you?" she demanded, "you're going to scare the Actives."

"Actives? Acti--you put a _bed_ in my room!" he shouted.

"And in another year, your back will thank me," she said rolling her eyes and walking back around the dividing case shelf.

Topher stared at the files that separated them, his eyes wide as he gaped at the faint outline he saw behind there. After a moment he stormed behind the bookshelf to continue shouting and froze.

The table was covered in candy.

His eyes widened as he took in the amazing spread. Gum drops, chocolate bars, twenty different kinds of gummy candy--they were all there in a kaleidoscope of inappropriate sugars that would have made his drawer of starches blush in shame. Claire was standing there like a child with her hand the cookie jar. In one hand she held a notepad, in the other she held a pen. His eyes went for the writing and she quickly hugged it to her chest, recovering her dignity with far greater speed than he was capable of.

"What are you doing?" he finally got out, "are you--"

"I was curious," she said, pushing an errant lock of hair behind her ear, "I _thought_ my favorite was chocolate but no, no actually I like these best," she said motioning to an open box of lemon drops, "for now," she added, fingers tightening on the notepad she held.

"You're trying to figure out your favorite candy?"

"I--" she began.

"Lemon Drops?" he demanded finally looking at the box, "seriously? _Lemon_ drops?"

"Well I always go for the yellow lollipops," she said looking at the pops which were also on the desk, "I _always_ went for the yellow."

Topher looked at the yellow and then back at her.

"That's disgusting," he said finally.

Claire's eyes widened at the look on his face.

"It is not," she said.

"Yeah, it is. Lemon? No-one likes lemon!"

"Yes," she said picking up the yellow candy and popping it in her mouth, "I do," she walked past him.

Topher stared at the candy on the table. Lemon. It was just beyond unfathomable that she would like such a disgusting flavor. He frowned as he thought back. He had come in here for something, before discovering such a disturbing thing about Claire Saunders. It clicked in his head and he threw up his hands, turning around and walking past the divider into the main part of the office. Thankfully there were no dolls, just Claire putting her notes on her desk, setting the pen carefully on top of the paper. Topher took a step froward, feeling his blood surge as he looked at her.

"You _bought _me a bed," he repeated.

"Yes, Topher, I bought you a bed," she said, giving him a look that clearly conveyed what an idiot he was being, "you're not some college frat boy, you _can_ have a bed."

"First off, I would never join a society of monkey idiots. Secondly, I _liked_ my cot!"

"And is that why you've got all these billings from a chiropractor?" she asked, raising an eyebrow in his direction.

Topher sputtered, looking at her, unable to figure out how exactly to respond to the fact she'd gone through _his_ file and figured out that he had been billing chiropractors. He was actually a bit impressed with her skills. He had a feeling she wasn't supposed to be accessing those kinds of files. But it was beside the point. The point was that she had bought, smuggled and assembled a bed in his computer room without him knowing. Topher's eyes widened as he watched her ignore him.

"You're accessing imprints," he said. Her pen stopped, "I didn't give you the hardware know how."

"Don't be ridiculous," she said with a roll of her eyes, "its called reading a box, Topher,try it sometime."

"Hey I freakin _wrote_ the box," he said. Claire stood up and walked forward, "alright lets say you aren't accessing old imprints. You're learning."

"Isn't that what I'm supposed to do?" she asked, sliding files into their shelves.

"Yes, no--" she looked over at him, "yes its what you're supposed to do, but none of us expect you to do it. You're not supposed to be able to learn new things."

Claire's finger stopped on the file.

She really was an idiot. She had been online shopping for new cloths. Her usual style of course but somehow she had also clicked on a few other pieces. Things with brighter burst of color, even a few patterned things. She had bought them before she could convinced herself otherwise, furiously typing in the credit card number before her resolve shattered. And then somehow she had found herself on a furniture website. She remembered that horrible cot. No-one past the age of twelve should have been sleeping on it but Topher was. So she had scrolled until she found a bed that would fit and clicked it. It was from a site with easy to assemble furniture.

It hadn't been hard to smuggle the box into his excuse for a bedroom either. She told herself she was a doctor. She knew how to fix broken bodies, she could put a bed together. It hadn't taken long at all really. She had been in and out as quickly as she could, even smuggling a mattress as well. It was only when she was back in her office that she realized she had done something _nice_ for Topher Brink and her stomach had rolled a little. The whole week she had been conflicted about the scientist, half torn between continuing pranks and moving on. But each time she tried to pull one off, her fingers failed to pull the power switch that would send him into darkness or take the rats out of the maze and stick them somewhere else. So instead of a prank she had bought the man a bed.

"Well congratulations," she said finally, her voice biting as the old anger surged through her, "go take a candy. Its another milestone for Topher Brink."

"Yes it--" he stopped, "are you wearing polka dots?"

Claire's eyes widened and she looked down. Her arm was high up towards the shelf, fingers stretched for the nearest file and her lab coat had ridden up. Sure enough, under the pristine white fabric was the polka dot dress she had bought. It was unlike anything she could remember owning, which was _exactly_ why she had bought it and worn it the first day it arrived. She had just kept it hidden, not entirely ready to reveal the fact she was wearing something patterned. Patterned _and_ sleeveless. Claire lowered her hand instantly, looking at him.

"Yes," she said finally, "I am wearing polka dots," Topher raised his eyebrows, "I'm tired of dressing like a mother," she fumbled with the buttons, anger making her fingers sloppy but she got the coat open and pulled it off, "so I am wearing polka dots," she slid the coat off her shoulders, "and the dress doesn't have sleeves either."

Topher stared at the woman in front of him. He had never in a million years thought they would be having this conversation. Or that she would be taking her cloths off in front of him, cheeks stained with anger. But there she was, not dressed in the pristine, graceful cloths she usually wore but something entirely different. It was not more provocative, the neck still was modest and the straps were wide but the dress barely reached her knees. But it was the color that stopped him. The dress was white, nothing new for her. But the polka dots were. At first glance they were just black but Topher was not a first glance person. His eyes picked out the midnight blue, the ebony, the grey--all the shades of the dots. They were dark colors but they were colors. Claire Saunders was wearing something completely different than what she normally did and he had no idea what he was supposed to do with it--or even if he was supposed to care.

Problem was that he did.

He had to get out of there.

"Yeah, so, I'm gonna go," he said taking a step backwards. Claire watched him walk towards the door, "weird that you like lemons, the dress looks nice on you--shit, ah, Ivy!"

Claire watched him leave before moments later, Ballard came in with Echo in tow. Claire picked up the file and walked into the main room where they were. Echo climbed onto the table and sat, looking ahead, her legs absently swinging back and forth.

"Mr. Ballard," she said, "have you noticed anything about Echo? Anything concerns?"

"No," he said, "she seems fine."

"Alright then I'll have to ask you to wait outside," Claire said. He nodded, his eyes lingering on Echo before he walked out. Claire approached the bed where Echo sat.

"Hello Whiskey," she said, looking at her.

Claire felt her fists threaten to ball and forced herself to relax, reminding herself that this was an Active, that this was her responsibility. It did not matter what she said, she had a responsibility to care for her. Claire reached down and picked up a pair of gloves, pulling them on with motions she knew she had technically never learned.

"Hello Echo," she said.

"Have you been eating candy?" she asked. Claire looked at her, "you smell like lemons," she looked down at her knees, "Whiskey never liked the lemon ones. She liked the orange ones."

Claire's hand hesitated on the stethoscope before she picked it up and came to Echo.

"Deep breath," she said.

Echo obeyed, without any sort of question. She inhaled and exhaled and Claire listened, her mind making sure that there was nothing wrong with her. She removed the stethoscope from her ears, looping it around her neck. She performed a few other tests before standing back to make some notes in the chart.

"You're all done," she told Echo. Echo hopped down.

"I'm sorry I called you Whiskey," the Active said, her smile as faint and vacant as everyone else's.

"its fine Echo," Claire said setting down the chart, "it is--"

"You look like Whiskey," she said, "but Whiskey's not there," she looked around before her eyes settled on Claire, "where is Whiskey? Is she with the others?"

Claire was silent. Others? She wasn't Whiskey? She had no idea what to say to that. Echo continued to look at her with all the innocence of a child, her eyes calm. She had no idea what she said, the effects her words had. She kept her gaze on her, there was no lie, no falsehood. Her words were said with the same tone as when she said no-one was their best here. Claire slowly walked over to the medical bed, her hand moving towards the tray. It was like some sick mind game, like she was going to go crazy in this place--if she was even capable of such a thing. Claire felt like she was spiraling out of control, like everything she was was just disappearing and every time she snatched a shard back, another pane shattered into a million more. Her fingers came into contact with what she wanted.

"Echo," she said.

Echo turned around as Claire did, the container of lollypops in her hands.

"You forgot to take one," Echo smiled and came over, looking into the container, her eyes moving around as she picked out a red one, "take two," Claire said. Echo looked at her curiously, "I forgot to give you one last time."

"I only need one," Echo said.

"Then you can give the other to Mr. Ballard," Claire said.

"Okay," Echo said happily, picking another one out.

She walked out. Claire watched her leave before she leaned against the chair, wrapping her arms around the lollypop container. Closing her eyes she hung her head, struggling to reign in her emotions. Her eyes opened and she looked around the room. She set the container on her desk and walked over to her desk, pulling open the drawer and pulling out the bottle of her former namesake. She uncapped the bottle and held it between her hand, lifting it to her lips.

"To Whiskey," she said, tilting the liquid down her throat.

Half an hour and a third of a bottle of whiskey later, Claire Saunders brushed off her polka dot dress, kicked off her heels and headed upstairs to where Topher Brink was closing up the chair for the day. He looked over as she came through the door, her stockinged feet not nearly as quiet as she intended them to be. His eyes widened as he took in her appearance but Claire was past caring. Bracing herself she threw out a hand.

"Give it up!"

"Give _what_ up?" Topher stared at her, "are you drunk?"

"Beside the point," she got out, "give it up. Where is your drawer of inappropriate starches?"

"Why--"

"Did you know Whiskey didn't even like lemon? Just orange," she shrugged, "where is it? I need to find out what my favorite chips are."

Topher stared at her, feeling any hope of the sleep he was planning on vanish.

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**Please Review!!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Okay! So Claire's drunk. Like really drunk. And she acts really funny and cutesy and not exactly herself and Topher's not sure what to make of that. **

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This was not the way that Topher saw his night going.

It really wasn't.

But Topher had always been able to find the amusement in a situation, albiet a cynical, sarcastic sort of humor. But humor none the less. So he could find the humor in the fact that a very intoxicated Claire Saunders was sitting in her polka dot dress on his trampoline working her way through half his drawer of starches. She was currently holding a Dorito up by two fingers, turning it over as she examined the artificial coating on the chip's surface before blowing out a breath and popping it into her mouth. Topher kept his eye on her but continued to work on the newest imprint.

"So, you figured it out yet?" he asked.

"No! Can you check?" she asked looking up at him. Topher raised an eyebrow, "well you've got the imprint!"

"I told you, you're evolving," he said, typing on the computer, "you gotta figure it out. And your chips might change. I spent all of high school eating those Baked Lays, can't stand 'em anymore," she shook one of the bags, "keep trying. You'll find it."

Claire let out a breath, one of her curls falling across her nose. Topher watched as she crossed her eyes to look at the hair before blowing out a breath, the hair flying in response before falling back onto her nose. Claire groaned and fell backwards until she was laying on the trampoline, her stocking feet dangling off the edge. Topher sighed and stood up, walking over to the fridge and pulling out a bottle of water nestled among the Red Bulls. He walked over to where Claire was laying looking at the place where the windows met the ceiling. Topher held the bottle towards her.

"I never got why we have windows up here," she said, "windows should look out. Out on trees and parks and babies."

"Okay you're being frighteningly maternal," he said, "well right now they don't look out, they look in. In on a world that almost no-one'll ever see."

"I feel like a fish in a fish tank," she wrinkled her nose, "cept there's no water. Fish need water."

"Ask and ye will receive," Topher said waggling the bottle back and forth. Claire looked up at him, her gaze foggy and far more amused than he had ever seen. So when she reached up he couldn't resist moving the bottle just slightly out of her reach, "ah ah ah, gotta say the magic words."

"Topher," she said, trying to sound like her usual self but only succeeding in sounding whiney as one of her hands came forward to reach out towards the water, her fingers brushing against the bottle but not actually grabbing it, "come on, gimme the water."

Topher looked down at her as she pouted and looked up at him. Pouting. Dr. Claire Saunders was on his trampoline with her curls askew and her polka dotted dress _pouting_ up at him as she looked into his eyes. Topher sighed as he looked at her, wondering exactly what he was supposed to do now. It was just too good an opportunity to pass up. He smiled as he looked down at her, slightly amused at what was going on. Despite the fact that he was slightly troubled by what was going on, he could find amusement in the fact he was on his trampoline looking up at him through the bottle of water. Enough amusement to poke a little fun at her.

"Come on, whatcha gonna say?" he asked, "begins with a P? Rhymes with Leese?"

"Please?" she asked.

Topher opened his hand. Claire's hand streaked out and caught the bottle instantly, her reflexes not dulled at all by the whiskey she had consumed. Topher smirked and turned around, walking back over to the computer, sitting back and focusing on the file in front of his nose.

Not on polka dots.

"Topher?"

Topher raised his eyes to see Claire sitting up, the bottle of water uncapped in her hand. She looked at him and then at the computer before standing up uneasily on her feet. Topher's eyes widened as he jumped to his feet, hurrying around the table to where she was swaying. He reached it quickly, stopping just at the place where if she fell, he'd be able to touch her. But didn't actually touch her, not yet anyway. She looked at the water and then back at him once again.

"This isn't making me feel better," she confided in him.

"Well you gotta give it a couple of minutes!" he said, "haven't you ever--" he stopped as she looked at him, "oh right. Well you have to let it work. Keep drinking. I don't want to explain to DeWitt why you're--" he motioned to her.

"Why I'm wearing polka dots?"

"This isn't about what you're wearing!"

"Then what are you so worried about?" she asked.

He didn't know exactly how to convey the fact that if DeWitt came in and saw Claire Saunders swaying in his room she was going to have a major freak out and then probably wipe Claire and fire him. Or send them both the attic. Either way, there was nothing good that could come of what what was going on at the moment. Despite the fact it was incredibly amusing to witness. Claire let out a rather dramatic sigh and took a long drink of water. She lowered the bottle, pursing her lips as she obviously expected an instantaneous reaction and was equally clearly disappointed when nothing happened.

"Topher," she said. Topher looked at her but she continued, "_Chris_topher. Why didn't you pick Chris?" Topher opened his mouth to tell her he couldn't get into that, "come on. Tell me," she said, "or I can go look it up in your psych profile."

"Oh you're good," he said, "but you want my real psych profile you're gonna have to dust off those hacker skills I imprinted you with," he said with a smirk.

"Already did it," she said flashing him an equally brilliant, triumphant smile.

Topher stopped dead.

"I didn't program you that well," he said slowly, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"You said it yourself. I'm learning, evolving. I learned. I evolved. I found out all about you," she said circling her finger before poking his chest.

Topher looked at the finger in his chest before looking back at him. Suddenly the game wasn't fun anymore. If she got into his file, she knew everything. _Everything_. It violated every agreement that he had signed, every confidentiality, every everything! If she got into his complete work up she was going to see why DeWitt had described his moral character as 'perfect for the job'. She was going to see why he didn't have a problem programming and wiping people many times a day. Why he thought that contract was clearance. More importantly, why he understood people's needs for a replacement, for someone tailor made to order.

Then she snorted with laughter.

"I'm kidding," she said, "I haven't done it--yet," she continued, "I don't want DeWitt to think I'm like Echo."

Topher exhaled.

Relief must have shown on his face because Claire snorted with laughter, one of her hands clapping over her mouth. The movement was jerky though and it knocked her balance off. Before Topher could quite understand what was happening, Claire had tripped and his position to being able to catch her came in handy.

Suddenly Topher found himself with an armful of polka-dot clad Claire Saunders.

His arms instantly went around her waist. But the position they were in meant she was at an angle and while one of his hands went on her waist, the other went decidedly lower on her hip. Her arms went instantly around his neck, her stocking clad feet not close enough to support her weight fully. Topher looked down at her and she looked up at him, her eyes sparkling brilliantly as the water she had been drinking pooled on the carpet nearby. She looked up at him, her chest rising and falling with the breaths she took. He looked down at her, knowing that his chest was in synch with hers.

"You changed your shampoo," she said.

"Yeah," he echoed, his voice soft.

"You don't smell that bad," she explained, her cheeks flushing pink.

"Ah--" Topher began, quickly moving forward to right her and step away but Claire Saunders had a few tricks up her sleeve and before he quite knew what was happening he was on the ground, trying to breath. Unfortunately Claire was right next to him, not completely the move without tripping herself, "Claire!" he cried, shoving himself up on his forearms.

"I--" she laughed, "I'm sorry," she laughed harder, "you just--" she shook her head, clapping her hands over her mouth in a failed attempt to muffle the sound, "you went down so easily!" she cried laughing harder.

Topher let his forearms slacken and dropped back to the carpet with a groan. Claire laughed harder as he felt one point on the back of his heel ache. One point. Drunk, no imprint and she had knocked him right off his feet without any sort of problem. He really wasn't cut out to be locked in a place surrounded by people who were capable of ninja-style martial arts. He needed a freakin body guard, especially if Claire was going to continue to do this. He turned his head to look at her, still laughing in amusement despite the fact that she was sitting on the floor as well.

Topher tried to hold the last shred of his dignity but laughter was, for better or worse, infectious and he found himself breaking until he laughed as well. Unfortunately that only egged her on until they were both laughing hard on the ground, trying to muffle the noise. Or she was. He was trying to stop laughing period, a highly unsuccessful thing. When they finally stopped laughing, Topher pushed himself into a sitting position and Claire brushed off her dress. He stood up and much to his shock, offered his hand to her. Even more stunning, Claire put her hand in his and let him pull her up to her feet.

"I think--" she yawned, "I'm going to go back to my, um," she snapped her fingers together, "Doctor place."

"Yeah, okay, you do that," he said. She nodded, turning to walk, "oh," she stopped and turned her head, "thanks, for the bed," he added, scuffing his foot against the carpet.

"I did it for your back," she said walking up the stairs. Topher nodded, not saying anything, "so why Topher?" she asked turning and gripping the railing. He looked down, "come on! Tell me why," she said pouting, "i bought you a bed."

Topher knew he shouldn't. He also knew she probably wouldn't remember either. Even more, much to his disgust, he realized he kinda wanted to tell her. Probably for the same reason his bags of chips were laying around them, the massacre of his drawer of inappropriate starches. Also the reason he had changed his shampoo. She saw his resolve weaken as well, as she waited there, her stockinged feet rising and falling against the carpet.

"My brother was Chris," he said, "so I'm Topher."

Claire looked at him. He looked at her, widening his eyes and shrugging his shoulders, waiting for her to say something or interrogate him further. But she just shrugged her shoulders.

"Okay. Night Topher. I'm going back to my Doctor place," she said turning around and walking out of the room.

Topher watched her go.

He really had nothing to say to that.

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**Please review! Next time Claire's in character and experiences her first hangover, Topher's not sure what he's going to do. Especially when DeWitt calls him in with some surprising news about Claire's contract and the repercussions it has for them all. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Okay so I'm caught up on Dollhouse! I'm boo hoo abot what's happening but I thought I, all the more reason to finish this! **

**Now, big inspiration came from looking back at that great scene with her and him in the computer room and I realized that Topher's got this silver bracelet on. Now I just had a tragedy happen to my roomie and best friend, she was diagnosed with Diabetes. But she has to wear this silver bracelet. To surprise her and cheer her up I went online to buy her a couple replacement bands so she could change them and I saw a couple different styles.**

**Including one that looked EXACTLY like the one Topher's wearing.**

**I get that its probably different but one I had the idea for this is wouldn't let up. So i'm thinking this fic's going to be a bit of a shorter one, closing out at like 10 or so chapters. But it's going to be awesome...i hope.**

**So enjoy!**

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Half awake, Topher groaned and rolled over on the bed that had been given to him, far too proud to admit that his back wasn't feeling the least bit bad.

Pushing himself up, he let the blankets fall off his chest with a yawn. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he shuffled over to one of the walls of monitors. Bending down he groped around until his fingers found the latch for the concealed drawer at the base of the monitors. Pushing it in, he looked down as the drawer slid out to reveal its neatly held treasure. All the boxes inside were neatly stacked, their compartments clearly labeled. It was possibly the only organized thing in his life--aside from what he was forced by DeWitt to keep organized. Bending down he picked up one of the boxes and moved to the compartment he needed. Turning it over in his hand, he dumped the contents into his palm with a practiced motion. Bending to the drawer again, he picked up one of the bottles of water arranged inside as he slid the box into its proper place, his hand still holding the pills.

"Topher?"

Hand halfway to his face, Topher froze like a deer in the headlights. His eyes went from the open drawer to his hand to the water cradled against his chest before he realized the single most damning thing: he was shirtless. Swearing, Topher looked around and realized that he must have thrown off his t-shirt in the middle of the night. Looking desperately at the narrow hallway through which his visitor was approaching, Topher tried to calculate if he could possibly make it there on time without dropping everything. Terror made his mind foggy though and he found it impossible to calculate, certainly not before whoever was walking towards him made it to him.

"Give me a minute!" he shouted.

"Topher this is important!"

Topher's panic doubled as he realized the owner of that voice and the pumps that strode towards him. With no other option he kicked the drawer closed and turned around, hiding his hands in front of him as Claire rounded the corner. His first thought was that he should have programmed her to have serious hangovers before he immediately dismissed the thought. He heard her step into his living space, heard the sound of disgust she made in the back of her throat, disapproval at the state of his quarters no doubt. Topher clenched his fingers tighter, trying not to feel too awkward at what was going on.

"I need to talk to you," she said.

"Yeah," he said, "kind of a bad time. Gimme five?"

"Give you--Topher, Echo is displaying some very serious anomalies--anomalies that are going to come to DeWitt's attention--maybe even higher up on Rossum," she shook her head and moved forward, "Topher we need to deal with this _now_."

"Yeah, okay," Topher said bouncing on the balls of his feet, "five minutes. Echo's still going to be there," he stopped, "I thought you weren't so hot on Echo anymore."

"Whether I am 'hot' or not is none of your concern," Claire said, "she is in my care and I am not going to let her come to harm. Not if I can stop it. Now stop acting like such a shy schoolgirl and lets get to work."

"I said I need a minute."

"Topher!"

Claire strode around him, her patience snapping as her fingers tightened around the files in her hand. Before he could turn away, she was right in front of him. Claire had come to him because Echo's latest results were off the charts, too off the charts to remain unchecked any longer. She hadn't thought anything of him turning away from her, he seemed prone to doing that. Nor had she thought anything of the drawer she heard slam shut, nor of the objects clutched to his chest. But whatever she had been expecting when she strode around him before he could turn away, whatever her mind would have thought of, it was _nothing_ compared to what she was actually faced with. It wasn't porn or a weapon or anything remotely like that. No, what Topher was holding fit snugly into the palm of his hand and if not for the medical memories she had she wouldn't have known what it was.

"Oh my God," Claire breathed.

"Shit--no--" Topher turned around but they both knew it was too late.

"Topher--" Claire moved forward, "you--" she stopped, "you should take those," she said finally.

Topher said nothing as he opened his hand to reveal the handful of pills cradled in his palm. Using the water he swallowed them down and lowered the bottle. He could go for a shirt now but it was kind of pointless. She'd already seen it. Slowly he turned around and face her. Claire's eyes were firmly on the ground as Topher walked over to the bed and grabbed the nearest shirt he could find, yanking it over his head. In her hand Claire held the file but now she was silent. Topher sighed, looking at the monitors and the damn drawer that was slightly open. Ignoring the now silent doctor he walked over to the drawer and pulled it open, putting the water back inside. The boxes were perfectly stacked still, the stupid white containers that held the key to his existence. SMTWTFS, the labels to the compartments, each full of the pills that kept his body working.

"So," he said turning around, "whats up with little miss Echo?"

Claire gaped at him. He was really just going to brush this off? Her eyes trailed to the drawer and then to the monitors around it. It blended very well. Obviously Topher had gone through great lengths to make sure that it wasn't known to anyone. Her eyes moved down the length of his arm to where the silver bracelet on his wrist was. There wasn't the red marking on it, but she had absolutely no doubt what that bracelet meant. What it said on the other side. She meant to look at his face, really she did, but her eyes were drawn to his chest. To what she now knew lay under the cotton covering. To the secret that he had gone through such great lengths to hide--the secret that she had stumbled upon.

"Doctor Saunders?" Claire jumped as he called her that, her eyes jerking to his face.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, "I just--" she looked at the file and then at him, "God, Topher, how long have you--"

"Its not important," he said.

"But--"

"I said its not important," he repeated, his voice taking on an edge she usually only heard when he had dealt with Dominic, "Echo, focus."

Claire tried to focus.

Really, she did.

She tried to focus when she brought Echo into her office and quietly explained the situation to the unusually mature Doll. She tried to focus when she ushered her into Topher's room, pulling the curtain behind her before exiting quickly, not able to watch the procedure take place. She even tried to focus back in her rooms, during the post op care, during everything. Her whole day it seemed was occupied, along with her usual duties, with trying to focus. And all day only one of those things went correctly. But when the night came, when it slowed down in the Dollhouse, Claire walked over and slid the door to her room open. She looked up to see Topher laying on the couch. Biting her lip, Claire turned and walked back into her room, only to turn around and storm out of it before she could loose her nerve. She opened the door to Topher's room and walked across the floor.

"Ah, Dr. Saunders," he said, pushing himself onto his forearms, his eyes glinting with barely guarded amusement, "to what do I owe this--"

"When did you have a heart transplant?"

All the amusement fled instantly. If Claire didn't know better she'd say Topher broke one of his few rules and actually _glared_ at her. For a second she thought she was going to tell her to fuck off but he seemed to realize she wasn't going to let it drop. Swinging his legs over the side of the couch he got to his feet and walked over to where she was standing. Without missing a beat he all but grabbed her arm and pulled her into his computer room. Claire had no choice but to hurry after him as he dragged her there, stopping only when they were safety within the confines of the room.

"You can't just go _announcing_ that!" he hissed at her.

"Topher its not something to be--"

"There are three people who know about this, understand, three," he said holding up his fingers.

"Now there are four. Why the hell isn't this in your medical records?" she demanded, "what if something had happened?"

"Not your concern," he said.

"Not my concern? I'm the physician!"

"For the Dolls, for us in case of a quick fix up," he broke off and for a second she thought he wasn't going to say anything but then he continued, "look, after the Alpha incident, measures were taken to protect the non-Doll people," he motioned to himself, "from everyone else--including each other. After what happened with Dominic, DeWitt only made them stronger. You've got access to about a third, maybe, of my medical records."

"And if something really bad happened I suppose I would have more?" she asked. He nodded, "do you have _any_ idea how dangerous this is?" she demanded angrily, "how irresponsible it is?"

"Yeah, because some psycho doll finding out that all they have to do is go in that drawer right there to kill me is _so_ much better," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "besides, if anything happened--" he held up his wrist, "kind of an obvious clue."

"I can't believe--" she stopped, shaking her head, "Topher how long ago did you have this done?"

"Its not important," he said.

"Yes it is!" Claire cried, "what if you--" she couldn't bring herself to say it.

"Look, its real cute that you're worrying about me," he said, his voice shockingly bitter, "but lets focus on the big picture here."

"Because I'm a Doll?" she demanded, her voice bitter and angry, "well its you're fault I'm so worried!" she threw back at him viciously, "couldn't you have programmed me to, I don't know, _not_ care about people like you?"

"Nope, sorry. You had to care about _everyone_. People like me included," he said.

Claire felt genuine anger surge through her. How dare he mock her like this. The infuriating amusement was back in his eyes, as if they were back on his side of the playing field. Claire did not consider herself a particularly vindictive person, a few pranks in response to a life changing revelation seemed hardly cruel. Especially because she had bought him an apology gift, trying to make it better. But now he was mocking her and she felt as though she couldn't see strait. The thought of slapping him was a very pleasant one but she held off, knowing that touching him right now was the last thing she wanted to do.

"Well," she said instead, "I suppose that's why you have no morals," she looked pointedly at his scar, "so whose heart was it? Who died and kept you alive because looking around here," she glanced around the room, "it seems to me you're intent on reminding yourself that everything has a heart," Topher opened his mouth, "I'm not finished!" Claire barked and he closed his lips, "so who was it?" she asked again, "given your loathing and the oldness of your scar--and the way you're so calm about it--I'd say it was a family member who died when you were young, maybe in an accident you were both in?"

His voice was so low she didn't hear it the first time over the blood pounding in her ears.

"What was that?" she asked, half sure she had gotten a name.

"Get. Out," Topher repeated through gritted teeth, his voice lower and angrier than Claire had ever heard it.

"I will not--"

"I said get out!"

It felt like ice water had been dumped over Claire at the hysterical edge in Topher's voice. She had crossed some kind of line, some kind of impossible, invisible boundary and she knew it. He looked as though he was moments from killing her with his bare hands, moments from ripping her limbs apart. Claire tried to think about what she could have said that tipped him over the edge. It occurred to her then that there was an excellent chance that she had said the truth and suddenly the words she had hurled at him in anger were nothing but tragic. Guilt rushed over her in a wave as she looked up at his closed off and angry features. He was livid but somewhere underneath all that anger was fear. Fear and sadness and so many emotions Claire knew she wished he didn't feel.

"I'm sorry," Claire said.

"Go," Topher said turning around.

"No," Claire said shaking her head.

"Dr. Saud--"

"Don't pull the Dr. Saunders card with me," she said stepping forward, "my name is Claire."

"You don't have a name," he bellowed rounding on her, the anger and hurt still burning in his eyes.

Claire recognized the insult for what it was. He was lashing out at her. And yet, somehow, she found that her first instinct was to tell him that yes, actually, she did have a name and it was Claire. It wasn't to say that she was a Doll or a creation, but that she was a real live person. He still looked at her, anger and hurt naked in his eyes and she looked up at him, her eyes meeting his with the serenity that she had shown to patients. Serenity that it had been a struggle to grab onto, but now it came. Almost with ease, it came.

"My name is Claire Saunders," she said.

"No--"

"Yes," she said firmly, "I like Doritos, Polka Dots, Lemon Drops and I _don't_ get hungover. I have memories that are mine, memories that are someone else's but everything I am," she raised her head, "makes me Claire Saunders. And I am a Doctor so I am not going to leave this room until I'm sure you aren't going to hurt yourself."

Topher had never thought he'd actually want to kill one of the Dolls. Really. He viewed them more like toys than people but toys that he wanted to play with none the less. But right now he wanted to hit her. Really _really_ hard. How could she suddenly be so much like the Claire that he had come to sometimes forget was a Doll? She was acting like herself and Topher had been sure that if _that_ ever happened, he'd think of himself as the single greatest programer in the world. But right now all he wanted to do was tear her apart with his bare hands. But she wasn't going anywhere. She _said_ she wasn't going anywhere.

That didn't mean he wasn't going to leave.

Topher strode out of the bedroom into his office. Claire closed her eyes tightly and leaned against the wall, listening to his angry footsteps retreat. Forcing herself to move, she stepped a bit further into the room, her eyes casting about for what she was looking for. She doubted she would have found the drawer if she hadn't known what she was looking for. Even knowing where it was it still took a moment for her to find it. Finally she did and released the latch, pulling open the drawer to reveal what was inside.

Brightly colored, neatly stacked pill boxes. lay inside. In each compartment was a handful of them, all to make sure the heart that wasn't Topher's continued to beat in his chest. There was extra water in there as well, and food too. All things patients were told but sometime forgot to have with them. But Topher's were organized and precise, as if it had been ingrained in him what he needed to do to stay alive. Claire carefully moved the boxes aside, being careful not to disorganize anything. Her fingers bumped against something else, something not related to the pills--not to the untrained eye. Claire pulled it out of the drawer carefully.

It was a prayer card.

On the back was a prayer, one that offered praise and love and acceptance. Claire's eyes moved over the words as she hesitated before turning it over and looking at the picture on the other side. The young man was handsome, handsome and familiar. He looked a few years younger than Topher did now, but given the creases and aging of the picture she realized that this was taken a while ago. The boy was smiling up at the picture, obviously with that smile that school photographers demanded one use. But instead of the mop of hair that Topher was always brushing out his eyes, this boy had a bandana tied around his head and, from what she could see, no hair to speak of.

_In memory Christopher David Brink_, read the name, _beloved grandson, son and big brother._

Claire lowered the picture before she quickly replaced it and slid the drawer shut, latching it behind her. Standing up she looked at the front of the drawer before she turned and walked out of room. Stepping into the main confines of the lab she felt almost dazed by the warmth of the room. Her eyes found Topher standing on the balcony, talking angrily to a man she assume do to be Boyd.

"Dr. Saunders?" Claire turned to look at Ivy, "are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Claire said, her voice soft.

"You sure? You're crying?"

Claire's eyes widened as her hand flew up to her cheek. Sure enough there was wetness there. Her eyes moved over to Topher, He was looking at her over his shoulder, seeming to judge whatever she was doing. But the moment he saw the tears on her fingers, his eyes widened.

"I have to go," Claire said turning and fleeing the room.

"Shit, Ivy, here, yell obscenities at Boyd," Topher said thrusting the headset at her, "Saunde--Claire! Claire!" he raced after her as she made it to the doors of her office and slammed them shut in his face, "Claire open the doors!"

"No!" she cried.

"Clair--"

"Problems, Mr. Brink?"

Topher froze, hi fist mid-knock as he turned around to see Adelle DeWitt standing behind him. Adelle always dressed in clothing that, on any other person, would look warm. But on her it only seemed to add to her ice-queen appeal. Today it was a shirt with capped sleeves in a polka dot pattern and a pair of loose black pants. She looked at Topher with one perfectly plucked eyebrow arched inquisitively and Topher felt every emotion--and his stomach--plummet to somewhere around his ankles. Turning away from the door, he placed himself squarely between it and DeWitt, though, from the slight turn of her head it was clear that the action had not escaped her notice.

"We need to talk," she said, "now. Wait for me in my office."

"I don't think--"

"Topher there are specific situations in this Dollhouse in which you are required to think," she looked him up and down, "this is not one of them."

"Waiting in your office," Topher said turning around.

Adelle watched him go before she rapped on the door.

"Dr. Saunders," she said, "I trust your emotional turmoil will not prevent you from your job?" she glanced behind her, "Victor is back from his first engagement and he requires your services."

It was a credit to Claire that when she opened the door she was composed, no signs of her earlier hysteria. It was there, in the red of her eyes and the bite marks n her bottom lip, but it was not at the forefront of the face she presented to the world. Adelle gave a slight nod before she turned around.

"Victor its time for your checkup."

Claire stood in the doorway and waited for Victor to make his approach. As she guided him into the office she watched Adelle walk away, gratitude pounding through her. Perhaps now she could delay talking to Topher until she figured out what she was going to say to him.

Upstairs Adelle DeWitt dropped a manilla folder on the varnished table in front of Topher brink's face.

"Whats this?" he asked.

"This is Clarice Thompson's file," she said, "a file that contains a contract that expires very soon," she looked at him, "as the contract stipulates, she will get her body back along with the standard payment."

"What--no," Topher flicked through the file, "no--what about her face?"

Topher looked at the picture of the girl in the flannel shirt, her hair pulled into a ponytail and a shy smile playing on her lips.

Shy.

Why was it that Claire had such a different smile? This girl, this Clarice, her smile didn't make her eyes light up or her nose crinkle. It wasn't infectious like Claire's smile. And the plaid--in spite of her fashion experimentation, Topher couldn't see her putting on anything like that. It struck him how impossible the situation was. How could two women be so different?

Two women who shared the same body?

"She's scheduled for her first surgery in two days," Adelle said, breaking him out of his stupor, "Alpha's interest in Whiskey has clearly waned. He is interested in Echo. I will be honoring Miss Thompson's contract and she will be getting her body back."

"How long?" Topher demanded.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said how long?" he questioned again, his tone not softening as he looked at Adelle with anger she had only seen once or twice in his eyes, "how long before this Ms. Thompson gets her body back and Dr. Saunders has to die?"

Adelle looked away and Topher made a sound of disbelief at how soon that meant it was. Adelle looked at him carefully. If she didn't know better she'd say that Topher was attached to his creation. But Topher only cared about Dolls as a child cared about a favorite toy. She had seen him upset at the loss of one before but he usually got over it. But now, now he looked much worse than he usually did when a toy was taken away. Maybe it was just his attachment to this particular toy but if Adelle didn't know better, she'd say he had gained genuine feelings for the girl. But surely Topher wouldn't be that foolish or that egotistical--to genuinely care about his creation--to care about _one_ creation in particular.

"How long?" he repeated.

"A month," Adelle said after a moment, "you have a month."

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**PLEASE REVIEW!!**


	5. Chapter 5

Topher Brink was pacing.

Outside the door of Claire Saunder's office, Topher was torn between retreating into his office and actually knocking on the door of the woman in front of him. If he knocked she'd answer and if she answered then he was going to have to go inside and talk to her. He didn't know if he was ready to go into the room. If he was ready to talk to her about what she had seen. She knew about his transplant but, more than that, she had to know about the person whose heart beat in his chest. _No-one_ knew, not even the people who thought. Well, maybe DeWitt knew, but that cold hard bitch knew way too much about everyone. For a Brit she seriously was nosy, must have been America rubbing off. But if he went in there he didn't know if he was going to be able to give her the explanation she wanted.

Whether she had three weeks left in her existence or not.

He had successfully avoided her for a week. Within the span of that week Claire had disappeared to the plastic surgeon's for the first of the treatments that would remove what Alpha had done to her. Topher had managed to stay away from Claire for the duration of the week but now he had to talk to her. But if he went in then he was going to have to talk to her. And that was the part that Topher didn't think he could do. Even if he only had three weeks to figure out why he was having a lot of trouble thinking of Claire Saunders as less of a Doll and more of a person--a real person with thoughts and feelings and choices all her own. Three weeks and yet he couldn't even knock on the god damn door in front of him. He was pathetic. No, he was worse than pathetic.

How the hell could it be so hard to knock on a door and talk to a girl behind it. Even if the girl was the one girl who might have figured out the truth that he had fought so hard to protect. But that was the bitch of it. He'd left her in that room alone, all the puzzle pieces laid out to her. At the time he'd been too mad to even see strait, much less to realize what he was doing. But now, now he could see that he'd left her there with everything just inches from her interested little fingertips. If it'd been anyone else who'd done it, he'd think that they'd _wanted_ someone to know their secret. But that was crazy. Why would he want someone else to know something he hadn't wanted to figure out? The one time Echo had placed her hand on his chest he'd almost had a heart attack. And yet he'd given Claire all the pieces to his darkest secret.

"You should go talk to her."

Topher turned around to see Echo looking at him with the strange clarity he'd come to expect from the Doll. She stepped forward in the peculiar way of hers, coming to stand right in front of him as he looked at her.

"Echo," he began, forcing his features into a smile as he looked down at her.

"You pretend with me," she said, "because I'm a Doll," she cocked her head to the side, "you don't have to pretend with Dr. Saunders."

"Pretend?" he let out a sound akin to laughter, "whose pretending?"

"You are," she said, the joke miles above her head, "but its okay. Whiskey's not there. Its only Dr. Saunders," as if to prove a point Echo turned to the door and knocked, "Dr. Saunders?"

Inside her room, Claire Saunders was spacing out.

It was not something she usually allowed herself to do--not that she had the time anyway. It was an endless rotation of Dolls coming for their post engagement check ups and pre engagement screenings. An endless array of minor injuries: pulled muscles, sprained ankles, simple things. But there had been a lull in the rotation and Claire had stopped, just for a moment. And she had allowed her thoughts to wander. Her face was still slightly numb from the surgery to erase her scars. Whoever they had work on her was very skilled at their job, she had seen an immediate difference even before the swelling had gone down. Two more of them and she'd be finished completely.

Merchandise ready for return.

She had known this day would come, the day when she'd go back to her owner. Adelle DeWitt was not the type of woman to dishonor a contract and hers was up--almost up anyway. She had no sense of how long she had been in the Dollhouse before Alpha had taken a pair of scissors to her face, only that it apparently had been long enough so that her contract was almost expired. Several times she had gone to the computer, intent on finding out who was going to replace her but every time she failed to open the file. Even now it sat on her screen, hidden behind several open medical reports. Claire didn't know if she was strong enough to open the file and find out the name of the person whose life she had taken over. It was not like they'd ever meet. She knew she'd go into a drive and whoever had given their body up would get it back, none the wiser for what had happened.

Worst of all was Topher's total avoidance of her.

She didn't blame him for not wanting to see her. She had obviously overstepped some line, crossed some boundary that no-one was supposed to. He knew she'd seen the picture, that prayer card. Worse, he knew she'd have fitted the pieces together. A new heart, a picture of a man who looked too much like him for it to be coincidence--Christopher David Brink had been Topher's elder brother. But there were questions as well, questions like why had Topher's parents named him with the same name they had given his brother? What had led to the circumstances with Topher being the one to get his brother's heart? Claire had mulled over everything but nothing became clear, nothing except for the obvious fact that something had shattered Topher's faith in humanity. Something had broken him so completely that he didn't see anything wrong with what they were doing. He saw nothing wrong with playing with people like they did. And, in some way, that was the greatest tragedy of all.

When Echo knocked on the door she'd been thinking about what it would be like to sit in the chair that final time. All she had to do was sit, lay back and close her eyes. She didn't even remember what it was like to be wiped and imprinted anymore. But what would it be like, to go into the drive and be placed in a box. Were the other imprints even aware of it? Would _she_ be aware of it? She had cautioned DeWitt and the others about repeat and long-term engagements. She had become the very thing she'd warned them about. What kind of affect would that have on whoever she was about to become? Would the woman who had this body remember her? Would she, in some strange way, live on? Did she even want to live on?

Pushing the torturous musings aside, Claire walked to the door and opened it. On the other side, Echo looked at her with her head cocked to the side in an almost bird-like manner.

"Echo," she said, "is there something you needed?"

"No," Echo said stepping back and reaching out, yanking Topher forward, "he needs you."

Claire's eyes widened as Topher looked shocked as well. Echo released her grip on him and stepped back with a small, satisfied smile. Turning on her heel she walked off to join the other actives. Claire looked down, feeling heat on her cheeks. She hadn't expected him to come by at all, much less while her face was still inflamed from the surgeon's work. Topher rubbed his arm, looking at where Echo had gone before he looked back at Claire.

"I keep forgetting how _strong_ she is," he said.

"She is a Doll," Claire said looking up at him, "kept in peak physical condition, remember?"

"No I just imprint them every day," Topher said. Claire arched an eyebrow, "most of them, anyway," he added quickly.

"Topher," Claire sighed turning around and walking into the office. Topher followed him, "I'm a Doll. You imprinted me. No sense in denying it when--" she trailed off, her eyes going over to the computer.

"Have you--" he began.

"I can't," she said shaking her head, "I don't know if I want to know whose body--" she motioned to herself before stopping, "I haven't looked," she touched her face, "and I've been busy."

"Yeah, I noticed," Topher said, "does it feel kinda weird? Not having them?" Claire looked at him, silent for a moment.

"I--" she stopped, "yes," she said finally, smiling for the first time since she'd learned of her approaching fate, "yes it does feel weird," she repeated, "I'm used to seeing myself with them and right now," she shook her head, "right now my face is just puffy."

"Well its not that bad," he said.

"No," Claire said with a twisted smile, "understandable, considering Rossum employs only the best."

"Well then, go us," Topher said with mock exuberance. Claire arched an eyebrow.

"Listen, Topher," she said taking a breath and looking at him, "I'm sorry about going through your stuff," she shook her head, "I shouldn't have looked through that drawer."

"No," Topher said, "you know what? its okay."

"Because in three weeks I'm gone?" she asked. He looked away, "your right," she said, "three weeks and I'm gone and no-one knows any wiser," she crossed her arms over her chest, "Topher this isn't any way to go through life."

"Not the 'wasting your life' lecture," Topher groaned.

"You know its true," Claire said, "Topher you can't spend the rest of your life in this place," she walked over to her desk, moving a few papers around, "unless you want to end up like DeWitt of course."

"That is so not even funny," the programmer said. Claire smiled and shook her head, "you seem kind of accepting of this," he said.

"I have to be," Claire said after a moment, her fingers lingering on the surface of one of the folders, "I--" she shook her head, cutting herself off, "besides," she said, "its not like being upset is going to do anything," she gave a sad sort of smile, "its like you said, I'm not supposed to know anything about you--or about anyone in here. When I'm gone I'll just be that," she gave a one shouldered shrug, "gone."

Topher's eyes widened. He wasn't sure what pissed him off more, listening to her talk like that about herself or the fact that she was using _his_ words to justify herself not caring about what was going to happen. He knew DeWitt was probably thrilled Claire was going to be content to quietly go into the night and he realized that he probably should be to. But somehow he couldn't bring himself to feel that. He was angry that she was just willing to act like this. Belatedly Topher realized he probably shouldn't have programmed her to make him angry so easily before he beat himself up for the thought. He shouldn't be thinking about program modifications for the woman in front of him. It wasn't like she was just some Doll that he could program.

Even if that was exactly what she was.

"Topher?" her inquiry jerked him out of his stupor, "are you okay?"

"Yeah, ah, I think its great that you're taking this so well," he said with a grin.

"Topher," Claire sighed, fixing him with a look that plainly said his bullshit was neither needed or appreciated, "you aren't a very good liar."

"I can be a good liar when I need to be," Topher said defensively. Claire gave him the same look, "I just--" he stopped before he stepped closer, "a week ago you were all 'I want to survive' and now you're all 'lets go to the hard drive'. What the hell gives?"

"This is how things are supposed to be," Claire said turning around and picking up a few files, going over to the bookshelf and putting them in place, "this girl is going to want her body back," she pushed another file in, "besides," she said, "its not as though I'll be aware in those Drives," she said.

His hands were suddenly on her shoulder. Claire's eyes widened as Topher spun her around, the files that she was holding dropping to the ground. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked up at him, painfully aware of how close they were in height. A part of her shouted that she should slam her foot into his knees, his chest and then his stomach while another part supplied a Judo throw that would probably break his spine. Claire did neither, she just stood there locked in his embrace with her hands by her sides. She couldn't look away from his eyes as she stared up at him.

"Did they dope you or something?" Topher demanded.

"No, Topher," she said, "what? Am I supposed to just drop to the ground and cry? Be hysterical?" she pushed his hands off her shoulders, bending down to pick up the folders, "I have work to do and as long as I'm me, I'm going to do it," she straitened up, crossing the files over her chest, "and besides, its not like it will really matter when I'm gone."

"Not matter?" Topher repeated, "of course its going to matter!"

"Topher," she sighed, "no matter how real I am, I don't really know anyone. Everything I know about people I've read in files or found snooping around. I don't have a friend in the world," she put the files quickly away, "and you've been nice to me but you're my creator--"

"Stop calling me that," he said quickly, "if I'm your creator I wouldn't have created you to get under my skin so easily."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Claire said, "and its not easy. I _really_ have to work at it."

Topher shook his head as he looked over at her, wondering why it bothered him so much that she didn't think anyone would miss her when she was gone. He thought it was good that she wasn't thinking about what it would be like to be in one of those Drives. But the idea that out here she didn't think anyone would miss her, well that was just dead wrong. He knew Ballard would miss her, the Dolls would miss her, even DeWitt would probably miss her. And he, well, Topher knew he'd miss her. Not just because she was the single greatest creation he'd ever created. It was more than that. She was changing, adapting. While the vainer part of him could attribute that to his own genius, the truth was that he attributed it to, well, to _her_. He might have given her tools but that was it. She'd figured out how to use them. And that was what made her truly incredible.

"Can I--" Claire stopped, "can I ask you something? You know, since in Three Weeks you're going to lock me in a box?"

"You want me to give you a dying request?" Topher asked.

"We can call it that," Claire said.

"Sure," Topher said, "why not?" he shrugged, "shoot."

"Your brother and you have the same name," she said, "and in the picture he doesn't have hair or eyebrows," Topher nodded. Claire took a deep breath, "are you a saviour sibling?"

Slowly Topher nodded.

Claire sucked in her breath. In her memories, she had been programmed to have done her graduation thesis for undergraduate studies on saviour siblings. She hadn't put the pieces together, even once she saw the prayer card along with Topher's pills. But she hadn't thought that Topher actually was one. And if he was, she expected him to deny it. But he didn't and he didn't run from the room either though Claire couldn't say she didn't want to. The look in his eyes wasn't one she had ever seen before. It was more tentative, almost afraid. She knew he was indulging her, she just couldn't figure out _why_. Probably because in three weeks she was going to be locked away and he was going to go on with life, no-one any wiser about what had happened to him.

"I'm sorry, I--" she pressed a hand to her mouth, "Topher."

"Oh come on, don't give me the pity look," he said, his lips quirking into a small but honest smile, "still here, remember?"

"T-then that's your brother's heart," she said. Topher nodded, "but I don't understand. I thought he was older--"

"We were in an accident," Topher said finally, "both of us were dying. Only problem was my brother wasn't going to wake up."

"You needed a heart," Claire realized aloud.

"I needed a heart," Topher confirmed, his voice full of self loathing, "My brother was in remission, he'd only had a tumor in his brain. So my parents had to choose, did they want to loose both kids or just one--even if it was the right one. So, the wrong one survived," he motioned to himself, "I got my brother's heart. I was born to give him whatever it took to survive and instead he did it for me," he threw his hands up, "the wrong kid survived."

There was such honesty and acceptance in his eyes that it crippled Claire. He truly believed that what he was saying was true. That he had been born for his brother, to save a child who had died anyway. But it was more than that. He loved his brother, as only a younger sibling could love their elder. He had loved his brother and Claire was beginning to think that his brother had loved him as well. The one person who truly loved him died and because of his death, Topher had lived. How could anyone have survived that? No wonder Topher was so good at keeping people away from himself. If that had happened to her, Claire knew she wouldn't want to let people in either.

"No," Claire shook her head, feeling tears gather in her eyes, "that's not true Topher."

Topher looked at her, having an impossibly hard time figuring out why had just blurted out his secret. Worse still was the fact that he couldn't figure out why it felt so good to tell someone--to tell _herˆ. _The only person who really knew the entire story--or most of it anyway--was the imprint he gave to Sierra every year on his birthday. He knew that he'd been chosen as the Programmer because he had no morals and that was true because growing up he hadn't really learned them from anyone. It was hard to discern right from wrong when your parents conceived you to save your brother. And his brother--

Christopher David Brink had saved Topher in more ways that Topher would ever be able to tell anyone.

His first computer, his _life--_whatever moral sense he had. It was all because of a brother who'd wound up dead because some bum was too stupid to know when he drank too much to get on the road. Now someone else knew and Topher wasn't sure what to make of the strange emotions that churned in his gut. All he knew was that he hated the pity he saw in her eyes. It was that same pity, that sorry look that had made him hate everyone in every school he went to. That made him start wearing long sleeve shirts to hide the medical bracelet. That made him work in a place where one person was more fucked up then the next.

"God, you know, the only reason i'm telling you this is because you've got three weeks to be real," he said, "three. Then I put you away forever in a nice little box with the other old imprints."

Claire looked at him. She'd known he'd go for anger. That seemed to be what he went for when humor was out of reach. A part of her felt bad for asking what she had, but she knew the secret was one she wouldn't be able to not know for long. She could blame it on him, the curiosity she felt, but the truth was that she couldn't. Topher might have made her curious but he certainly didn't make her act on that curiosity. That was what she did on her own. It was her own action that made her act that way, that made her take a step froward towards him. He didn't move, didn't really even look at her until he was close to her. He opened his mouth but she spoke first.

"I'm scared too," she whispered, silencing his words.

Topher swallowed thickly as her body pressed into his. It wasn't sexual, though he could feel every line of her body against his. He had told himself that she was a Doll, that that was all she would ever be. He remembered programing her, remembered changing her, remembered how it had felt to have her at that first meeting, none the wiser. They had made her unconscious for the imprinting. She had woken up in her office, not knowing what had happened. And yet even as he knew all those things, even as he told them to himself over and over again, even as he reminded himself that _he_ was her creator.

He simply couldn't think of Claire Saunders as a Doll.

There was a Doll, Whiskey and there was an imprint, Claire, but the woman in front of him was a mystifying combination of the two. Slowly her hand came out. Topher watched, mesmerized as it came to rest very gently on the center of his chest, where he had been cut open. Though the thin fabric of his t-shirt he could feel the warmth of her palm, of the smooth, uncalloused skin that bore no sign of her engagements as an Active. Topher looked up as he realized her eyes were not on the hand she had pressed to his chest but rather on his face. She was beautiful, even more so with the scars fading from her features. Topher found it difficult to breathe. Most of the actives were beautiful, exquisite creatures who were able to show any man's fantasy. He had watched them come and go in an endless parade of beauty and he had never truly been affected by it. He knew why the woman in front of him was more beautiful than any other, they both did.

She was not his fantasy.

Not in any way, shape or form. He had not programmed her to be his fantasy anymore than he had programmed her to learn she was not real. Of all the things he'd expected to happen, the stumbling of his heart was not one of them. Not for Claire Saunders. And yet it was, and yet even though she was not his fantasy he found himself unable to look away from her. Unable to move from her as she looked up at him. He knew what she was going to do, they both did, but Topher couldn't bring himself to move away from her. Not as she stood a bit more on her toes, not as she turned her head slightly to the side. All he could do was stand there.

Even as her lips touched his.

* * *

**OMG OMG THEY KISSED!  
**

**What's Topher gonna do?!**

**Now, for those who are confused about what a "Saviour Sibling" is, its a person that's born to save their sick or dying elder sibling. The term's become more well known after that book/movie 'My Sister's Keeper' came out. I thought it'd be interesting to have Topher be someone who was created for another person--kind of like the Dolls are programmed for other people. **

**But anyway, so they're both struggling with Claire's fate, in two different ways but both are having a really hard time figuring out how to deal with the creator/created thing. **

**Anyway please PLEASE review! You guys were so much better two chapters ago, this last chapter only a few of you rock stars came out to review! For the rest of you, please REVIEW! I know this is a smaller fandom but come on. Enough of you have this story on fave/alert that you should be reviewing. I have 50 stories in my profile, most of which are still ongoing and the way I decide who gets to update (aside from how interested I am in a story) is by what story is getting reviewed. That lets me know there's interest and when I have readers, I write. **

**So please review. **


	6. Chapter 6

**So yeah, I watched the finale and I was very VERY boo hoo at what happened to Topher. I mean i was pretty pissed when they brought Claire back but not. In fact, I'd say the two of them were the most tragic in Dollhouse. **

**So lets go back to my world where they can have a love story.**

**

* * *

  
**

Her lips were soft against his own.

Topher didn't think of how many men had kissed the woman who'd once been the Dollhouse's number one Doll, didn't think about how she had once been programmed to be a man's fantasy. All he was aware of was how gentle she was, almost as if she was unsure of herself. It hit him like a ton of bricks that, for all intents and purposes, it was her first kiss. The first kiss she choose out of her own free will. And the idea that _he_, Topher Brink, was the person she had chosen to kiss--in spite of all the incredibly strong and wealthy men she'd been with--was a crippling one. One that cleared his head enough to make him move.

"No--no," Topher tore his mouth from hers, holding her at an arm's length, "we can't do this."

Claire's eyes were wide, as if she too couldn't believe what had just happened, even if she had been the one to kiss him. Topher's hands gripped her shoulders as they stared at each other, neither sure of what had just happened. Claire swallowed thickly, feeling her lips tingle in a way that had nothing to do with the remnants of the anesthetic the doctors had injected her with during the surgery. Both of their chests struggled for breath, trying to calm alien hearts that pounded with unsteady rhythms. Claire made to step back but Topher's fingers tightened on her as the scientist seemed torn, torn between letting her go and pulling her closer. But both knew that there was no more tie to be torn.

"Why not?" Claire asked. Topher opened and closed his mouth, seemingly at a loss for words, "because I'm a Doll?"

"You know that's not why," Topher broke his silence, "you're--" he seemed lost, "you're Dr. Saunders!"

"And?" she demanded.

"And I--" Topher choked on his words as she stepped closer to him, disproving what he had thought was his strength, "I--"

"If you didn't want this," she said, her eyes searching his face, "why did you change your shampoo?"

It was funny, how something as simple as that question could make Topher's mind go from semi-rational to completely irrational. There was no grace in his movements as his hands lost their grip on her shoulders to cup her cheeks, pulling her face to his. There was no control as his lips captured hers almost desperately, his kiss not delicate or gentle as hers had been. Claire thought she must have been on a mission, been with a client who would like to kiss her like this, like he was kissing more than just her physical being. But she could not remember if she liked it quite as much. Her knees seemed to weaken as she grabbed the sweater vest he wore, her fingers crushing the fabric underneath. His hand came up to circle her waist, his touch almost chaste in comparison to the havoc his lips wreaked on her.

But that was Topher, full of contradictions.

Claire's fingers dug into his shoulder as she kissed him back. She felt like she was drowning in the touch. Who would have thought that _Topher_ could make a woman weak in the knees? She realized then, just how big a difference it was between programmed memories and the ones she actually made. The programmed memory of her high school boyfriend's sloppy kisses or her Med School almost-fiance's possessive hold on her waist was nothing compared to where she found herself. Claire didn't know what he'd changed his shampoo to, but she was sure that whenever she smelled it again she was going to go positively weak in the knees. Whatever claims he had of not wanting to do this were obviously not strong, certainly not strong enough to prevent him from doing what he was doing to her.

His arms slid around his waist, his finger splaying across her spine. She fit perfectly in the circle of his arms, not too tall, not too short, just--well, just perfect. And that was something he couldn't have come up with. The software, sure, but the hardware? That was all her. She didn't think about the skirt of her dress getting crushed against whatever fabric was used to make his pants anymore than he worried about her lab coat getting scrunched in the palms of his hands. It was wonderful and dizzying and the most exhilarating thing she'd ever felt in her entire life. Making out with Topher Brink in the middle of her office. It took the rest of her a moment to catch up to her mind.

"Topher--Topher!" Claire pulled back finally.

"Huh? Wha--"

"Dolls--" she gasped out, realizing just how hard she was breathing, "we've got work to do," she tried to steady herself but found it impossible, "how are we supposed to explain to them what we're doing? Do you want another Sierra/Victor episode?"

"Spending three hours watching dudes in the shower? Yeah, no thanks," he said, his own breath as erratic as hers, "we should definitely get back to work."

"Right," Claire said.

"You have to let go of my shirts first," he said. Claire looked at her hand, forcing it to relax.

"You should probably let go of my waist too," she said.

"Right," he said pulling back his hands.

Claire smoothed down the polka dot fabric of her dress, trying to calm her pounding heart. Reaching up she ran her fingers through her hair in a vain effort to comb it down. Walking over to the mirror, Claire fixed what she could, until she looked at the very least, in control of herself. Topher continued to stand there, watching her as she fixed her appearance, amusement in his eyes. Her hands paused as she looked over at him.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said holding up his hands, "girl stuff, its weird."

"Topher, work," she said, voice dripping with sarcasm and amusement as she rolled her eyes.

Topher waggled his eyebrows in response before he turned around and walked back to his office. He tried to find the horror with the idea of what he had just done, willingly making out with _Dr. Saunders_ in her office, but he was having trouble. Especially considering that he had just made out with Dr. Saunders in her office. He might not have been one for casual office hookups but even he could see the crazy awesomeness in what he'd just done. He knew, somewhere deep inside that he should find something wrong with the deed. He could say that she was Claire. That she was an imprint. That she was--

A really good kisser actually.

Topher shook his head, trying not to think about whether that was because of him or something else. He hadn't expected that. Well he'd expected her to be soft, girls tended to be soft. But there was something else. The same steely determination he'd kept when creating Dr. Saunders was still there. She knew what she wanted--which happened to be him--and she went out and got it. The funny thing was that was something he'd kept when creating Dr. Saunders, he'd taken in from Whiskey. Like Echo she'd been worked to be bone but that hadn't slowed her, not even for a second. She'd always had a special kind of determination, determination he knew he'd never really have.

"You're smiling," Ivy said glancing at him suspiciously, "why are you smiling?"

"I'm not smiling," Topher said, trying to stop his lips from turning up more, "not smiling at all--so what's on the agenda for today?"

Ivy was too smart not to know something was going on and too well trained to question her boss. Topher busied himself in what he was doing. Flicking switches, imprinting people, all of it was about second nature to him. Topher had always been rather good at burying himself in his work and this was no exception. Work was a solace, a place where he could find the answers the real world had always been dead set on keeping from him. He used to do it when things were bad. Now he wouldn't say they were bad so much as confusing. Like why the hell Claire Saunders had just kissed him. He hoped it wasn't a pity thing He'd had the pity thing before and it completely sucked. Or why he'd enjoyed it as much as he did. He'd made sure that when he'd created Claire Saunders he'd done it to help the Dolls. In a world of people who didn't really have a moral compass she needed to have one. But people with morals had always annoyed the hell out of him--her included. And yet he was sure that kissing her was probably the best thing he'd done in, well, in a very long time.

In her office Claire performed check ups on the Dolls, treating Bravo's twisted ankle and Oscar's cut that required two stitches. She informed Victor that Sierra was in the art room and let the new November pick two lollipops, one to give to her handler and one to take for herself. She filled out paperwork for the cases that needed it. Her mind was focused on the work. She'd always been good at focusing on work, especially when the world outside of work made it difficult to understand anything. But soon the Dolls that needed to be checked up on dwindled until, before she knew it, Claire found herself alone. Alone and with the insane thoughts that kept tumbling through her head. She had memories of other kisses, of course, and of having sex--one that she was not even going to ask Topher about. But she had just been kissed. Not an imprint, not a body, just her. Just Claire Saunders the doll who thought no-one was going to miss her.

She had made a memory.

It was hers. It had become easier and easier to think of herself and the body she inhabited as separate things. But what had just happened belonged only to her. Topher Brink, the man she had always thought of as a jerk, had kissed her. The polka dot fabric of her dress was still wrinkled from what he had done and yet she wouldn't trade it for the world. Scars and all he had kissed her. Claire might not have had much to go on, but she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she would never enjoy kissing another boy as much as she liked kissing Topher. She smiled, reaching up and pressing a finger to her lips. Scars and all he had kissed her. He had been passionate about it too, much more than she would have thought for Topher Brink the scientist who, up until a few weeks ago, had slept on a cot in a server room. She had reports to file and work to do and yet all that she could accomplish was sitting at her desk smiling like an idiot and staring off into space thinking about how utterly wonderful her first real kiss had been.

"So I'm going to take the fact that you're not hitting me as a good sign," a voice said from the doorway. Claire turned to look at him, "because I programmed you with some serious butt kicking skills so I know you _can_ hurt me. You're just choosing not to."

"Topher," she said pushing herself back from her desk and getting to her feet, "hey."

"Hey," he said, grinning in a way that made her fairly certain more than one girl had hit him after she'd been kissed. Though Claire couldn't see how they possibly could want to hit him after _that_.

Slowly Topher slid the door closed behind him as he stepped fully into the room. Claire leaned back against the desk, resting her hands on the wood to hide the sweatiness in her palms. But she did not object or throw him out. Her silence seemed to be consent enough for him as he stepped into the room completely with the sliding doors behind him closed to the world.

"I'm going to be gone in three weeks," she said looking up at him as he came to stand in front of her.

"I know," he said.

"And I'm still Claire. Still me, still everything you said I was," he nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking suddenly far more like the boy she was used to seeing than the man she had just begun to get to know, "so if you want to do--whatever this is--you should just remember that."

"Still hate me?" he asked.

"Not since you changed your sharmpoo," she returned evenly.

When their lips met, Claire felt a shiver of delight run through her as she tasted lemon on his tongue.

* * *

**Kinda short, I know, but I wanted it to be just about their new relationship. **

**Don't worry the drama's coming. Next chapter spans a period of three weeks (almost) an takes us to the night before, well, you know. And lets just say I'm going to have to up the rating on this fic for that chapter. **

**Please review! Seriously enough of you have this on alert and fave that the fact only a few of you rock stars are coming out to review is really kind of annoying. I like faves and alerts but I LOVE reviews. They are what makes me want to update a story. so really, its a simple as this: if you want to see an update you have to review. **

**So please review!**


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